I ain’t got no time for your box.

Look, I know what I am.

I’m a 35 year old white chick in the upper middle class. I stay at home with my kids and drive a Subaru. I’m currently wearing LuLaRoe leggings and a big hoodie. I have no less than 3 fancy ass creamers in my fridge at all times. And I post to Facebook daily. I’ve subscribed to an email service that notifies me when there are trashy romances available for free on my kindle. I drink wine by the box and rub some essential oils on a headache. I get sad and go shopping.

Hey, self-awareness, man. I get it. I get me.

And I know my market.

I know what products and media are made for me. LuLaRoe, for instance. Because comfort. Advocare. Because baby weight. Protein bars. Because easy. Pretty boy bands. Because swoon. Netflix. Because couch. Bad Moms. Because truth. Spa Days. Because stress.

I know when I’m being marketed to; when I’m being stereotyped.

But I’m a (half) rich white lady so that’s fine. It’s not offending anyone for people to peddle Tupperware at me. (P.S. I could use some Tupperware, for real.) It’s smart marketing. Good on you, mates.

I made this box, people.

You can put me in the box. I’m not bothered by it at all. It makes sense. There’s plenty of reasons this works. I am who I am. And there’s a lot of us Basic Bitches. I am one of millions. *shrug* I’m comfortable being faceless and absolutely unoriginal.

But that won’t stop me from blaring some Coolio, mama.

I ain’t got no time for your box, man. Because when Fantastic Voyage comes on, I’m a straight up thug. I’m one of those booty shakin’ girls in a rap video. I own this shit, yo.

I know this isn’t my market. I am not who Coolio had in mind when he wrote this song. I have no illusions here. But it’s fun.